I can’t tell if I’m lost or experiencing freedom.
We are hardly speaking,
And I’m thinking,
Every attempt I make to reconnect for a meeting,
Is once again a reminder that I am obviously sleeping,
Because I’m dreaming.
My perfection is nonexistent similar to the others I share this oxygen with.
But what do you do when being chastised is the only option you get,
They say you’re moving too fast,
You have to stop and to sit,
Or risk being left behind, and labeled as wasting time
then you are cautioned to quit.
Obviously I haven’t learned one lesson when it comes to emotions.
Which is why operation Fuck Love is fully in motion.
I’m not bitter, just broken and fed up with being chosen,
By a particular archer who can’t cease to release his tantrum of explosions.
I now realize that situations mold faster than organic herbs.
You can cycle from combining ambitions to using savage words.
Expectations become parallel and inconsistent.
Astounding how sobered actions can alter thoughts and intentions.
Memories before cherished became tenants to ashtrays,
Possessions that were once sacred lost their value.
Connections that have been active have found alternative pathways,
Conversations that were normally heard no longer have volume….
It all worked out in the end.
Poetry 